Ellis Edward Sylvester
The Flying Boys in the Sky

CHAPTER XIII
SCIENCE WINS

Clever as was Harvey Hamilton, and skilfully as he had played the game, he was outwitted at last, for the individual who rushed toward him was his enemy Bill, and he carried a loaded gun.

Not only that, but after him hurried one, two, three, four others, ready to back up their leader. One of them carried a deadly weapon. Bohunkus Johnson was nowhere in sight.

No wonder the young aviator was dumfounded for the moment. He was still seated, with his hands grasping the levers, but he was too wise to try to flee, with that gun commanding him and the holder of it in the mood to use it. In a twinkling, the grinning Bill was at his side and laid his free hand upon one of the propeller blades.

“Shall I start the thing humming agin?” he asked with grim irony.

Harvey’s wits flashed back to him.

“Wait till I do my part,” he replied, as if the slightest misunderstanding had not come between them.

As he spoke, he stepped on the ground and drew out his pocket book, while the five stood expectantly around, all not understanding what the action meant.

“I was so afraid we might have some accident with that gun,” he remarked, observing the damaged weapon in the hands of one of the party; “that I broke the hammers; you can get them fixed at a gunsmith’s for a dollar, so I guess that will about make it right.”

With which he handed a ten-dollar bill to Bill, who crumpled it up and shoved it into his pocket, without a word of acknowledgment.

The situation was delicate to the last degree. A few feet away stood Herb, whose homely face spoke eloquently of the scrimmage through which he had passed. One eye was closed, the upper lip was swollen to twice its usual size, and the cheeks were bruised, to say nothing of the rent shirt, with more than one crimson stain showing upon it. To offer to settle the matter by handing the sufferer money was like adding insult to injury, though the majority of mankind have little trouble in swallowing offenses of that nature.

No one could have met the point more tactfully.

“Herb,” said Harvey, stepping toward him; “you and my colored man had a run-in and the last I saw of him he was going for life.”

“You bet he was!” said the other; “it’s blamed lucky for him he run so fast I couldn’t ketch him; if I’d done so there would have been a dead nigger in these parts.”

Harvey hid the pleasure that this reply gave him. Bunk had escaped from his foe and was safe somewhere.

“He got me foul,” Herb added, feeling that some explanation was due his fellows who had seen him in his humiliating situation; “but I throwed him off and then he took to his heels.”

Herb added several sulphurous exclamations which it isn’t necessary to place on record.

“I saw him running, but I notice that he managed to injure your clothes and it is no more than right that the damage should be taken out of his wages. Will this make it square?”

When Herb saw the size of the bill handed to him his little gray eyes – or rather one of them – sparkled with greed. But the three who had not been thus remembered were angered.

“Say, boss, you seem to have a purty good wad there; ’spose you hand out a few more of the long green.”

This suggestive remark was made by the scowling scamp who answered to the name of Sam. As if there should be no doubt of his meaning, Bill took it upon himself to add:

“That’s right; you don’t need any money when you’ve got that sky wagon to tote you about. So fork over.”

Harvey’s face flushed, but holding his anger under control, he said to Bill:

“The agreement between us was that if I handed this money to you, my colored friend was to rejoin me and neither he nor I nor the machine be molested.”

“How can the moke jine you when he’s run off?” asked Herb.

“We’ll waive that point, but you are not to injure my machine nor expect any more money from me.”

“Do you mean to say you won’t give it?” demanded Bill truculently.

“I’ll die first; I didn’t know you were a gang of cowards as well as scoundrels.”

“Who’re you calling a coward?” growled Bill, his sunburned face flushing an angrier red.

“Every one of you! Five against one; you wouldn’t dare attack me singly.”

“I wouldn’t, hooh? Boys,” added the bully, addressing his companions, “this lily is my game. You don’t have any put here. Understand?”

They sourly nodded, though little or no reliance could be placed on any promise they might make.

“Will you agree to fight me alone?” asked Harvey.

“Of course; that suits me down to the ground.”

“And the rest are not to mix in, no matter what happens?”

“Hain’t I told you that? What ails you?”

“That suits me,” replied Harvey, who coolly took off his coat and flung it across the footrest of the aeroplane. If anything like fair play was shown him, he had no fear of the result, for though his antagonist was taller and possibly stronger, he knew nothing of the science of boxing. Having doffed his outer garment, Harvey proceeded in the same deliberate fashion to roll up his sleeves. Then he poised his right fist a few inches in front of his chest and diagonally across it, with the left extended toward his antagonist. The left foot was advanced so that the weight of his body rested on the right leg, so balanced that he could leap forward or backward as might suddenly become necessary. His handsome face was a shade paler, and he compressed his lips as he said in a quiet even voice:

“I’m ready!”

The prospect of a fight between two men or even boys is always sure to interest the spectators no matter who they may be. Every one of the five men was in a state of delighted expectation, for not an individual felt the faintest doubt that the dandified youth was about to undergo the beating of his life. The four were ready to promise they would remain neutral, for they could not believe a possibility existed of their champion needing help.

As for Bill himself, he chuckled, for he dearly loved a fight and he felt venomous toward this intruder, because he seemed to be rich and had lately played a humiliating trick upon him. He handed his gun to Dick, but did not remove his coat, because he did not happen to be wearing any. He made a motion with each hand in turn, as if to shove the bands of his shirt toward the elbow, but he merely tightened them. He did indulge, however, in a little act that is generally peculiar to a countryman. He spat on his horny palms and rubbed them together.

Harvey saw from the first that though Bill might be a powerful man, he lacked even a rudimentary knowledge of boxing. He held his fists in front, but they were well down, separated by a wide space, and when he drew near enough to deliver a blow, his feet were side by side. While Harvey Hamilton’s pose was an ideal one, that of Bill was the opposite.

In contests of this nature, the sympathies of the reader are naturally with the “gentleman,” and the story teller generally arranges that he shall be the victor, though in real life it is not likely to happen that way. Had the elder undergone the training of the younger, he assuredly would have beaten him to a “frazzle,” but it was that one thing lacking which proved the undoing of Bill.

His awkward advance upon the youth gave the latter the opening he was waiting for, and coolly, promptly and fiercely he seized the advantage. Bill lunged out terrifically, but the blow was a round one and being cleverly parried, swished in front of Harvey’s face. In the same instant his opponent made a single bound forward, so as to throw the weight of his body into the straight, lightning-like thrust of the left fist, which crashed against Bill’s receding chin with the force of a mule’s kick. He went over on his back, completely knocked out and with no more sense than a log of wood. It may be said that the fight was ended before it fairly began.

Harvey knew some seconds must pass before Bill would be able to climb to his feet. He shifted front in a flash and said:

“I’m waiting for the next.”

He still held his arms in position and danced deftly about as if impatient over the slight delay in their attack. But their hesitation was due more to bewilderment than fear, though the sight of the motionless form stretched on the ground told its own story.

It would be thought that the courage shown by the young pugilist would have appealed to the manhood of the others, but, sad to say, they had no manhood to which appeal could be made. The one known as Dick shouted:

“Are we going to stand that, boys? Didn’t you see him hit Bill? He hit him foul! Let’s lay him out!”

Harvey braved himself for the shameless attack, determined to make their victory cost them dear. He knew that more than one would suffer, but a pang shot through him when Dick called out:

“Let’s smash that old thing to flinders first and then serve him the same way.”

“That’s the idee!” answered Sam; “we’ll make one job of it!”

And they charged together to carry out their cowardly threat.

CHAPTER XIV
MILO MORGAN SAVES THE DAY

As straight downward as if fired from the zenith, a tiny missile shot through the air so swiftly that no one saw it. It struck the ground directly in front of the four men and burst with a deafening report. In the same second, another followed the first, landing just behind the group with the same terrifying explosion. All saw the flash, the smoke and the flying particles.

Then a third and fourth followed with similar results. Succeeding the fire and crash a voice rang out:

“Run for your lives! Take to the woods or you are dead men!”

The command, which sounded as if it came from heaven, acted like an electric shock upon the four young men, who with gasps of dismay dived in among the trees with such headlong panic that two dropped their hats, and the others stumbled, crawling forward and scrambling to their feet as best they could.

The bewildered Harvey might have done the same, for it seemed the only way of escaping a frightful death, had he not fancied there was a familiar note in the deep bass voice. When he looked aloft, the strange occurrence was explained. Balanced directly overhead and not more than a hundred feet high, floated a monoplane. A slim man more than six feet tall and clothed in a long flapping duster was standing erect with a small, oblong object in his hand to which he had just applied a match. He let it hiss for a moment, and then tossed it away so that it fell only a few feet from where Harvey stood.

“Don’t be scared,” he called; “I’m just practicing how to drop a bomb on the deck of a vessel; these things make a loud noise but nothing more.”

As the delighted youth stared upward, he saw painted in glaring letters on the under side of the single plane the words:

“The Dragon of the Skies.”

“Aren’t you coming down to call?” asked Harvey. “No one could be so welcome as you.”

“So I judged from the way things looked; I have been up here some time watching matters. You keeled over that brute beautifully.”

“He is showing signs of revival.”

“Stand a little out of the way and watch me help revive him.”

Harvey, relieved beyond expression by the happy turn of affairs, sprang several paces aside and watched his friend aloft. He was still standing erect, balanced so perfectly in the calm that he did not have to steady himself. The missiles which he had flung to the earth were simply giant firecrackers, some six inches long and more than an inch in diameter. He knew when he lighted the powder-soaked string which served as a fuse how many seconds it would require to reach the powder within. It has been shown how accurate he was in his calculations.

Harvey saw the flicker of the smoking match as it was touched to the short dangling twist of fuse attached to the cracker which he held in his left hand beside his waist, while with one eye closed he squinted along the red tube as if aiming a gun. Then he parted his thumb and forefinger and the cracker tumbled downward end over end, and either through extraordinary skill or by good luck dropped upon the chest of Bill and burst with terrific force and deafening noise.

It certainly “revived” the man, for with a howl he leaped to his feet and plunged in among the trees in the wildest panic conceivable. A fifty-pound bombshell would have caused more damage but could not have created greater terror.

Harvey in the reaction of his spirits leaned against his biplane to keep from falling through excessive mirth. He had never seen anything so funny in his life. In the midst of his merriment, Professor Milo Morgan called down:

“I must be off; good-bye; better not bother with such folks as these.”

“But, Professor, won’t you make me a call?”

“Haven’t time; other matters are awaiting me.”

“Can you tell me anything about Bohunkus?”

“He’s round on the other side of the wood, waiting for you.”

As he spoke, the elongated aviator extended one arm, so that no doubt was left of the direction meant. Then he resumed his seat, and the Dragon of the Skies darted into space like an eagle diving from his mountain perch.

Harvey noticed again that swiftly as the man was speeding, his monoplane seemed to emit no noise whatever. It was certainly a remarkable muffler that enabled him to do this, and it explained why none of the party below had any inkling of the crank’s proximity until he made it known in the startling manner described. Moreover his uplifter held him sustained without motion, as we sometimes see a bird hovering over the ocean and preparing to dart downward for its prey.

“He has made enough inventions already to give him riches beyond estimate, but the fact seems to be the last to enter his head.”

But Harvey could not forget his dusky comrade. Professor Morgan had told where he could be found, provided he had not gone elsewhere in the meantime. The five young men with whom the couple had had their affray were still capable of making trouble. It was possible that when they found none was harmed, they would return to look into matters. The minutes were too valuable to be wasted.

Although the aeroplane had been exposed to danger it had suffered no injury. Instead of procuring a brake, in the form of a prop from the nearby wood, with which to hold the machine until momentum was gathered, the young aviator whirled the propeller about, stepped into his seat and grasped the control. The motor started at once and sent out its deafening racket. The little rubber-tired wheels began slowly turning and sped swiftly across the open space. Harvey waited until he was going very fast, when he drew back the handle and in the same instant felt he was traveling on nothing. Upward and outward he shot to a height of three hundred feet, when he circled about and came back over the wood, beyond which he glided to the other side.

It was there he ought to find Bohunkus. Slowing his progress as much as he could and still remain aloft, he scanned the earth in quest of the colored youth. There was the stretch of woodland, meadow and sparsely cultivated ground, with the small dwelling in the distance, the landscape being crossed by a winding creek which skirted the forest and lost itself far to the eastward.

But Bohunkus Johnson was nowhere to be seen.

“Likely enough he has started off on a run again with nobody chasing him and may not look behind until he has gone several miles. It would serve him right if I left him to get home the best he can. He has enough money to pay his way and – .”

Harvey’s eye rested on a large maple lying on the edge of the wood. It had fallen recently, for the foliage of the abundant limbs was still green. The trunk, which must have been two feet in diameter at the base, showed no branches for several yards, but was held a little above the ground by the sturdy and bent limbs upon which the greater weight was resting.

There was no particular reason why this object should interest Harvey, but it did, and he scrutinized it closely, as he slowly sailed past. Something moved, but so vaguely that he could not identify it. The object appeared to be under the log in the open space between it and the ground upon which it was supported. The distance was so trifling that Harvey did not call his binoculars into use.

The top of a person’s head, without a cap or covering except a mass of black wool, and a pair of staring eyes, showed over the top of the log. Their owner was watching the biplane, as if uncertain of its identity. Had the individual remained stationary, he would have come into clear view, as Harvey glided beyond him, but before that could take place, he ducked under the maple, whisked beneath, and raising his head, again peered over the trunk from the other side. He did not speak, but evidently was mystified and undecided what to do.

The amused Harvey curved about and then volplaned to the ground within fifty paces of the fallen tree. As he did so, he saw Bohunkus standing erect and grinning at him. He had donned his cap and was delighted.

“Did I scare yo’?” he asked, going forward to meet his friend.

“Scare me? How could you do that?”

“I knowed it was yo’ all de time; I thought I’d have a little fun wid yo’.”

“What were you doing behind that log, Bunk?”

“Nuffin; I felt sorter tired and laid down to rest till yo’ come along; I was getting out ob patience wid yo’; what made yo’ so late?”

“I have been looking for you; those were queer performances on your part.”

“What oblusions am yo’ obluding to, Harv?”

“You gave that fellow the best thumping he ever had, and then jumped up and ran off like a big coward.”

“Didn’t run away from nobody; it was dem ’leben fellers wid dere loaded guns dat was a chasing me like all creation; wouldn’t yo’ run yo’self?”

“Certainly, if I had been attacked by such a force, but I stayed behind and entertained the other four and there was only the one that troubled you. What became of that fellow who tried so hard to overtake you?”

“He’s dead,” was the solemn answer of Bunk.

“What killed him?”

“Me,” was the unblushing response; “I kept running till I got him away from de oder nine, so dey couldn’t help him; den I whirled about and lammed him so hard dat it was de last ob him; he’ll neber insult any ’spectable colored gemman agin.”

“Well, Bunk, I am afraid you will have to do your job over, for I saw him only a little while ago. He may be near at hand this minute.”

And Harvey glanced around as if alarmed by the probability of such a thing.

“Being dat am de way things stand, hadn’t we better emigrate, Harv?”

CHAPTER XV
UNCLE TOMMY

Like a sensible young man, Harvey Hamilton had made a study of his itinerary before leaving home. Allowing himself a margin of several days, he expected to rejoin his friends at the end of a fortnight. If all went well he would do so earlier, while there was always the possibility that he might be absent still longer.

He knew that the little town nestling several miles to the left was Darmore. It was at the base of a spur of the Alleghanies toward which he had been working his way from the first. His wish was to pass beyond the thickly settled districts. Nothing palls sooner upon an aviator than the endless succession of towns, villages, cultivated sections and monotonous scenery. While there must be a certain sameness in the expanses of forest there was always the chance of adventure which a normal youngster craves as he does his meals when hungry.

Harvey had meditated going to Darmore to renew his supply of fuel, but recalled that after passing the mountain ridge, another and larger town lay some miles away in the broad forest valley. He had enough gasoline to carry him thither and he decided to make the trip. He followed his general rule of not rising far above the altitude necessary to clear the tallest trees and elevations. Thus, viewed far from the rear, the aeroplane suggested that it was climbing the mountain side by resting upon and sailing over the billowy sea of foliage.

The summit proper was no more than two or three hundred yards in height, and having cleared it the young aviator mounted higher than before in order to secure a comprehensive view of the surrounding country and learn how correct his impressions were.

He was vastly pleased. Almost in a direct line and not far away lay Chesterton, a town of several thousand population and in the midst of a thriving section of the country. He traced the winding highways, the scattered farm houses, the broad, cultivated fields, the signs of busy life everywhere, and the enormous wealth of forest which continued up the farther slope, crowned the top of the ridge and stretched down the incline beyond.

The noisy motor in the sky and the queer looking object which seemed to be advancing sideways and at a rapid pace, drew attention wherever it was seen. Farmers riding over the dusty roads stopped their teams and stared aloft until they got kinks in their necks; men and women climbed to the roofs of their houses, as if the slight decrease of distance would help them, and breathlessly studied the strange sight, some of the spectators with the aid of spy-glasses; groups gathered on lawns, porches and in front of their homes; every window of a passenger train, to say nothing of the platforms, was wedged with curious observers, while several white puffs which shot upward from the steam whistle showed that the engineer was sending out a salutation to the aerial wanderer who could not hear it. Everybody had read of aeroplanes and seen pictures of them, but this was the first time the real thing had sailed into their sea of vision and no picture can stir like the actuality itself.

Two men, one of them carrying a gun, were walking over the high road, a little way to the right, and probably two hundred yards from the aeroplane. They had stopped and were surveying the strange object overhead. One of them abruptly raised his weapon and the little faint blue puff showed he had used the machine as his target. Instead of a shotgun the fellow fired a rifle. It was impossible of course to hear the report, but the sudden appearance of a small white spot on the framework of the upper wing, showed where the bullet had nipped off a splinter. Strange that so many people cannot observe a curious object without yearning to shoot it.

Harvey looked around at Bohunkus, and by a nod and the expression of his face asked whether he wished to be set down that he might properly chastise the scamp. The colored youth shook his head. He had gone through enough in that line to satisfy him. Harvey shied off and speedily passed beyond range. The fellow did not try a second shot.

Thus far the weather had been ideal, but a disagreeable change threatened. The sun was hidden by clouds, which increased in density and number, and the air became so chilly that both shivered. Harvey headed for Chesterton, for it was evident that soon all pleasure in aerial sailing would be ended for the time.

The approach of the aeroplane roused the usual excitement in the little country town, and when Harvey descended in an open space near the collection of houses, half a hundred people rushed thither to greet and give him whatever help he needed. He aimed to make a graceful landing so as properly to impress the spectators, but he got another reminder of the astonishing sensitiveness of the aeroplane, which must be handled far differently from an automobile. He was not quick enough in shifting the lever and hit the ground with so violent a bump that Bohunkus, who was not expecting anything of the kind, was thrown headlong from his perch and landed in a sitting posture with so loud a grunt that the onlookers laughed.

“What’s de matter wid yo’?” he asked angrily; “dat’s de right way to come down in an airyplane. Hab yo’ any ’bjections?”

“It’s the way you land,” replied one of the men, “because you don’t know any better.”

Bohunkus would have been glad to make a scathing retort, but was unable to think of one. So he said in the way of reproof to his companion:

“De next time yo’s gwine to try to knock a hole fru de airth, let me know so I can jump.”

“It will do you as much good to jump afterward as before. It looks to me as if a storm is coming, Bunk, and we must get the machine under shelter.”

The pleasant feature about the situation was that the crowd which had gathered and continued to gather was a friendly one. No one spoke an ill-natured word and all were eager to help in every way possible.

When Harvey stood on the ground, facing the group, he asked:

“Are we going to have a rain?”

“He’s the man that’ll tell you all about the weather for a week to come and hit it every time.”

The one who spoke pointed to an old farmer, without coat or waistcoat, with a ragged straw hat, chin whiskers and bent shoulders, who was chewing tobacco after the manner of a cow masticating her cud.

“How is it, Uncle Tommy?” asked the man who had just spoken.

The old fellow, still chewing, looked up at the sky and then around the heavens, squinting one eye as he carefully studied the signs.

“It’ll rain like all creation inside of a couple of hours; then it’ll hold up a little while and bime by start in agin and drizzle all night.”

“How about to-morrow?” asked Harvey.

“It’ll be bright and clear, but a little cooler than to-day.”

“Tell the young gentleman how the rest of the week will be,” insisted his neighbor.

“The next three days will be clear and rayther warmish; I won’t say anything beyond that this afternoon, but if ye wanter know, I’ll obleege ye to-morrer when I’ve had a snifter and my breakfast.”

“I am much obliged; you have told me what I wanted to know. I shall need shelter for this aeroplane; can any of you gentlemen help me?”

There was less difficulty than Harvey anticipated. Chesterton had a single large hotel or tavern as the townspeople called it, with the usual rows of sheds for the convenience of countrymen when they drove in from the neighborhood. With the help of several bystanders the machine was shoved over the road and through the alley – where much care was necessary to save the wings from injury – to the sheds at the rear. There, after some delicate maneuvering, the machine was worked into the shelter at the corner, where a fair hangar was secured.

“Here we stay till the weather clears,” said Harvey to Bunk, as they strolled into the hotel to get their dinner, for which each had a keen appetite.

Where all showed so hospitable a disposition, Harvey felt little fear of any harm to the aeroplane, though Bohunkus strolled out once or twice to make sure everything was right. After the meal the young aviator seated himself in the utility room, as it may be called. This was connected by a door that was always open with the bar, and was intended for the convenience of those who wished something a little less public. It was provided with several chairs, a round table standing in the middle of the apartment, and had a sanded floor and a few cheap sporting prints on the walls. A half dozen men were seated around, most of them with feet elevated on other chairs or the window sills, while they gossiped of the affairs of the neighborhood. They showed little interest in Harvey and Bunk. The former obtained pen, paper and ink from the landlord and spent a part of the afternoon in writing to his parents and to brother Dick in the Adirondacks. He named a town in advance which he expected to reach at the end of a week, as the proper one to which to address their replies. This duty attended to, Harvey looked at Bunk, whose cap had fallen on the floor as he leaned back in his chair and slept. There was no prejudice so far as yet shown against his race in that section and he was not annoyed by any one.

Recalling the words of the old weather prophet, Harvey went out on the long covered porch in front of the hotel. The two hours had passed and the rain was coming down in torrents. Then, just as the venerable farmer had said would be the case, it slackened, with the promise of renewal before nightfall.

“Some of those old fellows can beat the government every time,” reflected Harvey; “I shall believe Uncle Tommy until I see the proof of his mistake. Well, I declare!”

It happened at that moment that Harvey Hamilton was the only person on the porch, where several wooden chairs awaited occupants. Here and there a man or woman could be seen hurrying along the sloppy street, all eager to reach home or shelter. The youth’s exclamation was caused by sight of an unusually tall man, in a long, flapping linen duster, striding forward on the same side as the tavern, so that he passed within a dozen paces of where the astonished youth stared wonderingly at him, for, without his distinctive attire, the long grizzled beard and glowing black eyes identified him at once.

“How are you, Professor?” called Harvey; “I’m mighty glad to see you again.”

The individual upon being hailed looked at the young man as if he had never seen him before, and then, without the slightest sign of recognition, stalked up the street and out of sight.